Martina Pahović sent me a mobile-phone text-message this morning to the effect that she and her sister-in-law-to-be, Samanta Pergar née Bertoša, would be in Zagreb this afternoon. The two of them took part in a presentation of Istrian wines in Hotel Esplanade because Martina’s husband-to-be, Robi Bertoša, could not come to present his wines. As soon as I entered a large hall with many stands piled high with wine bottles, I saw Klaudio Tomaz. We shook hands and exchanged a few words. Going around, I bumped into Marko Fakin and his brother, Alen. Once again, we shook hands and exchanged a few words. At last I came to Martina and Samanta, whom I had hard time finding in the crowd of nearly fifty winemakers. After many hugs and kisses, we talked about everyone in Motovun. They asked me about my beloved, as well. Only then I learned that Piero Tomaz, Klaudio’ grandfather, had died today. He was ninety-seven, a year less than thirty years my senior. Anyway, the news shook me much more than I would have expected. The last time I saw Piero was a bit less than a decade ago, but I always felt quite happy to hear that he was alive and well. There was quite a bit of pride when he told me himself that he was the oldest one around (“The Oldest One in Town,” March 16, 2006). Shaken a bit, I hugged and kissed Martina and Samanta one more time, and then returned to Klaudio’s stand. I shook his hand for the second time, this time with feeling. Words almost failed me, though. Piero was close to my heart.